


When the Morning Breaks Us

by flannelfeelings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anorexia, Anorexic Castiel, Eating Disorders, Established Relationship, Human Castiel, M/M, Sad, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 21:18:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3355598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flannelfeelings/pseuds/flannelfeelings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel hasn't touched a plate since Dean can remember, and Dean hasn't touched Cas since it started.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Morning Breaks Us

**Author's Note:**

> Phew...this is really personal to me, I hope it's not too jumbled. My feelings tend to sink into my writing when it gets too close. Hope you enjoy anyway :)

Bony hands sharpened to a thin, wiry grasp. Once striking cobalt eyes dulled to a misty, haze of pacific seafoam. Ivory skin darkened around a lifeless gaze that endlessly taunts those who dare dream of glancing into it. Chapped mouth surrounding broken fragments of words unsaid. This is what’s left of Dean’s lover. What used to be a man made up a beauty and effervescence has become the hollow shell of something broken away until nothing was left. A pair of dead eyes and vodka stained lips. And there’s nothing Dean can do.

“Please,” he whispers late at night, eyes searching Castiel’s face for any sign of recognition, “please Cas…”

“No.” Cas responds quietly in a monotone voice.

“But I love you so much…”

“Dean, I can’t.”

“Castiel please just eat something.”

“Goodnight Dean.” Cas will turn over, facing away from Dean, turning his back on the one thing that’s thus far kept him afloat.

A shameful spurt of helplessness leaks into Dean’s veins, freezing his entire body to it’s core. How are you supposed to help someone who doesn't want help? How are you supposed to bring an unwilling corpse back to life? How do you heal those who don’t believe they’re hurt?

Dean will cook breakfast, and Cas will promptly exit the room. He’ll slip on his shoes and dance himself into a forgetful trance of empty bellies and ballet music. Dean will settle into a restful sleep while Cas ends up in fits beside him, sobbing absently and gripping the sheets. What he’s grabbing for, Dean doesn't know, but his skeletal fingers hunger for something in the cool, crisp cotton. When his shaking hands brush against Dean’s skin and they both shudder, both trapped and free in a nonexistent embrace, Dean wishes desperately that he could reach out and touch Castiel back. But anything other than the tedious monotony they've achieved in the past few months might upset the delicate balance that is Castiel’s fragile life, and the last thing Dean wants is to hurt him even more.

Dean hates Cas in some ways, for doing this to himself. To them. And he knows with sick certainty that he’s a hell-bound bastard for thinking such horrific and selfish thoughts. But in his heart he knows that there’s nothing either of them could do to stop it. Because it just happens, and when it does it fucking hurts like a shit-ton of bricks. He watches Cas, everyday withering away to nothing, and screams internally for a love he lets disappear.

No more. _One day_ , he says every night to himself in the mirror, _one day I’ll change this. We’ll get him help._ And yet every morning he wakes up, handcuffed to routine and fear. He and Castiel live parallel to one another, but not together. A never-ending tango of palpable tension and agony that surely drags Cas further down the rungs of misery.

This is what Dean thinks, until one night when Castiel slides into bed and meets his eyes. Dean had gotten angry earlier in the middle of lunch. Cas had downed half a bottle of water and then gotten up to leave, making Dean promptly slam his fist into the table and demand an explanation for Castiel’s refusal to eat. Cas had stared at him, turning silently, and exited the room. As it always goes.

They’re silent for a moment, breathing in the aroma of togetherness and locking desperate gazes. Cas moves his hand closer, fingers brushing against Dean’s bicep, and he shudders. Cas’ hand is cold.

“What?” Dean whispers as Castiel continues to rhythmically slide the pads of his fingers up and down Dean’s arm.

“I love you.” Cas murmurs in an unused voice, looking up through the ring of dark lashes that surround his dampened cerulean eyes.

Dean licks at his lips, swallowing hard and wincing at the dryness of his throat, “I love you too.”

“I want...I can’t keep doing this.” Cas responds softly, “I’m not just dying... _we’re_ dying. Everything we had is fading away with every labored breath, and I can’t stand the thought of losing us.”

“So what do you want Cas?”

“Hold me.”

Dean obliges, reaching down gently to scoop Cas up against his body. The smaller man curls into Dean’s warm side, and Dean can feel the stick like shapes of Castiel’s bones digging into his fingers. He hugs the thin, gruesome parody of Cas in his arms, hugging him just tight enough as not to hurt him, but enough to satisfy them both. It feels almost foreign now, to hold Cas in this way, to cradle the broken pieces of what he once held whole.

“Won’t you get help?” Dean’s words are hushed, as if a regular tone might startle his lover.

“I don’t know if I can,” Castiel responds in a billowy whisper, “maybe I’m too far gone already.”

“No! No Cas...no there’s always a way. We can turn this around, huh?”

“Dean why would you stay with me? Through all of this...after I started getting sick...why stay? This can’t have been easy.”

Dean’s fingers explore gently through Cas’ dry, brittle hair, “Because I love you. That’s the only reason I need.”

Cas’ sigh is feeble, “When did we last kiss?”

“Oh uh...on my birthday.”

“That long ago? Months...Dean, I want to kiss you.”

Dean doesn't know what any of this means for them, or for Cas himself, but he doesn't care. He eagerly leans his face in, brushing his lips tentatively against Castiel’s chapped ones. As soon as the familiar touch hits them both, the kiss deepens intensely. Dean’s tongue slowly slides into Cas’ mouth, creating a rhythmic pattern that dances along the same lines as Castiel’s. His heart thrashes in his chest, begging him to never let go, never release the sweet embracing solvent that rests in his lover’s mouth.

When they do pull away, Dean finds himself out of breath, “Cas, where the hell have you been?”

“I don’t know Dean, but I’m coming back.”

“ _We’re_ coming back Cas. I’ll be right here beside you.”

“For the first time in months, I feel like my heart is beating.”

“Mine too Cas. Mine too.”


End file.
